Beer Buddies
by Cykrawlerine
Summary: It's new for Logan, being friends with Kurt, but he could get used to it.  Until one day that friend is almost taken away from him.


Disclaimer: I don't own X-men.

And this is NOT SLASH! NOT!

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Sometimes, the man known only as Logan wondered how the hell he'd ended up at such a gorgeous place as the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Needless to say, Logan was at least 90 years old, not a youngster by any definition, but Professor Charles Xavier had taken him in just the same, like he did any mutant in need of a home. He was a good guy, that Xavier.

BAMF!

The sound of whooshing air filled the air, and Logan caught a noseful of brimstone odor.

"Abend, Logan," He heard the familiar soft voice of his friend behind him, German accent strong as ever. Logan doubted Kurt would ever lose that.

"Hey, Kurt."

"Was machst-- what are you doing, I mean."

"Nothin'. Why you up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep. I brought a few beers," Kurt said, shrugging and then stepping forward next to Logan and holding a bottle out to him. That man knew him too well.

"Yer learnin', elf."

He glanced over at his newly arrived friend and smiled, relieving him of one of the bottles. He glanced at the label, reading the title quickly. He'd never heard of it before.

"The hell kinda beer's this?"

"The good kind, my friend. Aus Deutschland."

"German beer? How'd you get a hold'a that?"

"A friend from zhe old circus in Munich sent it, along vis a few posters and other things from my old home. He recently visited Canada und he thought that he might as vell send something along for me while he vas nearby."

Logan nodded slowly, popping the lid off the bottle with little effort. Kurt used the edge of his shirt to do the same. Logan glanced at the bottle again.

"You sure this stuff's as good as you say it is?"

"Unbedingt."

"The hell's that mean?"

"Absolutely."

They stood drinking for a minute. It was all Logan could do not to chug the stuff, it was so much better than the Canadian brew he was used to. Tasted fresh, and much richer. At first he had tried to pound down the drink like he usually did, but that earned him a sharp reprimand from Kurt, who claimed it was no good if you drank it too fast. Logan still finished his beer first, setting the bottle down on a stony wall overgrown with Virginia creeper.

"Stuff's pretty good," Logan remarked, shoving his hands into his pockets as the wind outside picked up a bit.

"The best. Vhy do you think I don't drink very often? Your beer tastes terrible here."

"I can see how you'd think that."

"I don't think, I know." Kurt grinned a toothy grin, his fang teeth giving the smile a crooked look, but not threatening, never threatening. Of course, the fangs did match his mutated exterior, complementing the spaded tail, which swished contentedly in the night air, perfectly. The pointed ears, the blue horsehide fur, the elven ears, they all matched. He had six fingers and four toes, with a sort of dew claw thing on the back of his feet. He could cling to walls, could perform acrobatic feats that neared the 'no way' factor; he was a master fencer. He could teleport, he went around barefoot all the time, and he had an obnoxious obbsession with Errol Flynn and all those ridiculous swashbuckler movies. His jokes were bad. And yes, he did shed blue all over the furniture. But Kurt was Logan's friend, probably always would be. He was that one person Logan could picture sitting out here, on a similar night, years from now, just the same as they were now. It felt good to have a friend like that in this messed up life of his.

Logan turned at the sound of an electronic motor and wheels buzzing against the ground. Kurt turned around too as Professor Xavier wheeled into the garden where they stood. Kurt sheepishly grinned and stuck the beer bottle behind his back.

"Guten Abend, Herr Professor," he said.

"What's up, Professor?" Logan asked, leaning back against the viney stones.

"I have something to discuss with you both," he said, and Kurt's tail began to twitch nervously. "No, Kurt, not about your drinking on school property, although that is against the rules. It's about a mission I have for you two. Follow me, please."

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The Professor's office was dimly lit, and seemingly covered in library shelf print wallpaper. On closer inspection, however, one could see that the walls were actually covered by bookshelves, each stacked to the brim, with maps on any available wall space and a few file cabinets. He desk was old, oaken, covered in personal items such as a few old photos and a clear, plastic chess set. Logan had always wondered why Xavier didn't just buy himself a new one, sans plastic.

The two X-men knew the area well; they had been summoned here at least once every week ever since taking up residence here and becoming members of the X-men. Logan glanced at the clock, already midnight. Great, another moonlight mission, another sleepless night. Damn being the last one to bed. Well, except for Kurt, tonight.

"Alright, here's our situation. I've picked up news of some disturbing happenings nearby, in Lockport, actually. Young mutants, being captured, tortured, killed. Most do not know how to use their powers. Many are girls, as is the one they recently brought in. She is the only one at the moment; they recently killed off their other prisoners. I need you to infiltrate their hide-out, and rescue the young girl, named Elia, before she is further violated physically."

"You mean..." Kurt began softly.

"Yes. When you find her, be sure to bring her here immediately. I'll have Jean awake to treat her when you get back. There's a car all set in the garage. Good luck."

"Sure, Chuck. We'll be back in a bit. Let's go, elf."

"Ja. This is something I don't think ve should vait any longer on..."

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As the car, a Lotus, roared down the highway, Kurt and Logan conversed lightly, both of the their minds really on the mission at hand. Kurt was dressed in a grey swearshirt, the kind with the hood so as to not freak people out, a tan jacket and jeans. The image inducer he loathed so much was strapped about his wrist, switched off for the moment. It would be off unless they had to work in public. Logan was in his usual leather jacket and blue jeans. He didn't really own much else.

"So, elf, gonna keep on with those fencing lessons tommorow? S'pretty cool, now that you only beat me at it most of the time."

"Ja, I think ve can do more. Maybe I vill start you on the sabre tommorow. More about brute force and tactics than zhe others I've taught you."

"Cool."

"Ja, ice cold."

"Haha, funny."

"Ich weiss."

"Shut up."

"Nein. Mach mich."

Logan rolled his eyes as Kurt chuckled softly. He gripped the steering wheel and turned it sharply to the right; luckily there were no other cars on the highway at the moment because the Lotus travelled across at least three different lanes before straightening out sharply near the right-hand wall. Kurt lost his balance on the seat and slammed into the car door, cracking his head on the window pane and crying out sharply in annoyance.

"Logan!"

"Was?" he mimicked, using Kurt's accent jokingly.

"Was mein Esel..."

"Alright, I'm sorry, elf. You deserved it, though."

"Stimmt nicht!"

Logan sighed and leaned back in his seat, steering with one hand, a small smirk planted on his face as he watched Kurt rub his head indignantly.

Revenge was sweet, even on your best friend.

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The suspected drug house was a rundown affair, the usual feel of a crime-ridden residence the two X-Men had so much experience dealing with. They stood outside the car, a few houses down from the house, staring over at it from the curb. Kurt's tail swished nervously back and forth, cracking the air every couple of minutes. Logan popped out his claws, his typical reaction to any outside stimulus.

"You remember what kinda drugs Chuck said they ran?"

"I don't believe he specified."

"Hn." Logan scented the air, glancing up and down the street, finding the area deserted. He looked at Kurt, who stared hard at the house, checking for any movement there. They were dressed 'in cognito', as the Professor called it, Kurt in a tan jacket and jeans and Logan with his typical leather coat and boots. Kurt had no shoes on; he never had been able to find two-toed sneakers at Payless.

"Does this car have a cloaking device like zhe X-ving?"

"Yeah, actually, that's not a bad idea." Logan grabbed the keys and pressed a few buttons on the automatic starter remote, then shoved the keys back into his pocket and started towards their destination. Kurt crouched next to him, muscles tense, tail thrashing back and forth.

"Why you so nervous, elf? We've done this a million times before."

"I don't know. I have a bad feeling about zhis place. My tail never lies."

"Let's go around the back, see what we can find out. We'll stick together for now."

They moved silently in the night, Logan because of his extensive training, Kurt with his natural agility and stealth, through the crowded alleyway next to the house and around into a weedy backyard, littered with old tires and garbage cans. Paint strips hung lifelessly from the sides of the house; the area held the rotten stench of things dead and dying and sick. The only clear sign of life was the verdant moss that filtered through cement cracks and holes in the brick walkway they finally stepped onto. The back door stood ajar, the screen hanging from its nails and falling from the door.

Logan moved through the doorway, using his heightened senses to scout out the area mentally before they both stepped fully into the building. He motioned with a clawed hand for Kurt to follow him as he stepped into the shadowed interior. They stood in a rotted-out kitchen, the linoleum tile floor cracked and torn up severly, though Logan could hear the refridgerator still running and food inside; this place was being lived in.

"There's people here," he whispered to his companion, who nodded and glanced around the room.

"Wo gehen wir jetzt?"

"You take the upstairs. I'll clear the rest down here and see about a basement."

"Okay." Kurt moved away and headed up the stairs, blending into the shadows so well that one would miss him if they were not looking hard enough.

Logan moved into the hallway, which branched off into several rooms, presumably a living room and a dining room. He turned at the first opening, peering around the doorframe and scenting the air. He smelled nothing. Well, besides the obvious odor of dust and mold. He stepped into the room and glanced around. Nobody. The room was devoid of any furniture; no cabinets that an unseen criminal could be hiding in. He left.

The dining room was much the same as had been the empty room, save for a large, long table that filled the room, although no chairs stood nearby. Again he scented the air and smelled nothing. Again he left.

Logan spotted a closed door to his left, Maybe this was the basement. He moved to it and pulled the door open. It made no noise as it opened, and pitch darkness flooded out into the already dusky house. Great. If there was anywhere better than a basement for finding criminals, he'd yet to see it.

He began to descend into the darkness, beginning to slip into his heightened senses to find his way through the gloom. A distinctly rotten stench permeated the air, filling his nostrils and nearly gagging him. He was near the bottom of the staircase, worried because of his inability to smell anything useful, when he heard scuffling above.

A loud gunshot rang out, a short cry of pain. In a distinctly familiar voice.

Logan thundered back up the stairs, crashing through the door as if it weren't even there. A few splinters set themselves into his skin but he shrugged them off and roared into the kitchen towards the stairs.

"Kurt!" he yelled out, taking stairs three at a time. He could smell the gunshot easily, his senses were zeroed in on his one goal. "Kurt!"

He found the door slightly ajar, he could feel it, this was it. He stormed in.

"L-logan," a low, wheezing voice came from behind him. He turned to the left, seeing his friend sprawled half on a wooden desk, the ever-moving tail twitching, snaking aross the ground. Logan darted over, picking up Kurt and laying him gently on the floor, eying him over and immediately spying the gushing hole in his abdomen.

"Logan...sie ist...da..."

"Nein," Logan muttered as he tore off Kurt's white t-shirt and began to staunch the bloodflow with strips of it. "Sprech nicht, Kurt."

"J-ja, sie ist... da..."

"Shh, she don't matter, elf. Who shot you? Wer hat dich geshossen?" The blood wasn't stopping.

Kurt groaned in pain. "Sie... she did... da..." He raised a shaky hand and pointed over Logan's shoulder.

"Don't matter." He frantically covered the wound with more cloth, trying in vain to stop the blood from flowing. Kurt was shaking; his tail had taken up a death hold on Logan's shoulder.

"Sie ist das Mutant, L-logan..."

Logan grunted, piled more cloth on the wound and moved Kurt's hand to it, pressing down.

"Hold that there. Don't move it."

Kurt's hand pressed the cloth against the wound.

He turned around and quickly found the human form settled underneath a pile of boxes and containers. She was young, with a typical teenager look, both in features and clothing style. In one hand, she held a pistol; it looked like a Glock to Logan, but he wasn't sure. He snarled at her and moved near her; she gasped and scooted back a little, letting the pistol clatter to the floor.

"I'm sorry..." A tiny voice, fearful, quavering. "I-I thought he was..."

"Though he was what? A demon, one 'a your goddamn rapists, what?! What gave you reason to shoot him, huh?"

"L-logan, nein. It-it vas an... accident. Bitte..."

Logan grunted, reached under the boxes and dragged the girl out by her shoulder. He snarled dangerously at her, and she stared at him, eyes wide with total fear of the man.

"Help me," Logan said curtly, moving back to Kurt's shaking form and slipping his arms beneath his furred back. Lifting his friend effortlessly, he tilted his head in the direction of the door. The girl darted to it and opened it, stepping out of the way as Logan stormed through. They got down the stairs and outside alright, and Logan shifted an arm around in order to get into his jacket pocket to find the keys. The girl was sniffling a little, eyes still wide, and confused. Kurt's breathing was shallow, his body was shivering and pained groans came from his mouth. Logan knew it wouldn't be much longer before the blood started finding a way back into his body, he would bleed internally...

He found the keys and hastily clicked a few buttons, causing the car to appear and drawing a gasp from the girl's mouth. Logan reinstated his hold on Kurt; looking down, he saw his friends eyes blinking tiredly, and his hand barely kept up it's pressure on his wound. Logan turned to the girl.

"Open the back door 'a the car. Get in, and slide over to the other side. Faster, c'mon. D'you want 'im to die?"

She complied, mostly out of fear of Logan. He was near in a frenzy of anger mixed with worry and concern for his friend... If Kurt died, there would be dear Hell to pay.

Logan moved swiftly to the car, gently laying Kurt in the backseat with his head on the girl's lap. Running around to the other side of the car, Logan yanked the front door open and slid inside, jamming the keys in the ignition and turning them.

"Keep pressure on that wound!" he barked to her, not bothering with a seatbelt before he stomped on the gas and sped off. Ignoring stopsigns, red lights, and other cars, Logan kept driving, surprisingly enough avoiding any police.

"Where are we going?" the girl asked, sounding damn near tears.

He reached the hospital in record time.

"Stay here," he grunted to the girl as he gently lifted Kurt back out of the car after stopping in the hospital lot. He ran into the building as fast as he could without moving Kurt too much, and slammed through the doors, and was gone.


End file.
